21 people

When we walked in, the PTO presidents and fundraising chair were putting the finishing touches on the sign-up sheets. It took two long tables to accommodate all of the committees. I looked over their shoulders (not annoying at all, I’m sure) and read through the sheets.

Playground Committee

Spring Festival Committee

Harvest Committee

Silent Auction Committee

There must have been twenty of them, at a minimum. I noticed one was missing.

Um, guys? I don’t see a sheet for the Inclusion Committee. You know, the one I made up. The one that didn’t make your list cause I um, just sorta willed it into existence.

One of the co-presidents sprung into action. She ran down the hall and came back in a flash, having found a teacher who had generously offered the use of her computer. She sat me down to type up a brief description of what the committee does. Since I have yet to completely figure that out, I punted and lifted something from the speech I would give a few minutes later.

Inclusion Committee

Help plan our school’s Inclusion Week Celebration in December and celebrate the rich and diverse tapestry that makes our school so special.

A pilfered piece of scotch tape and the inclusion committee was open for business. Or at least ready to take volunteers.

I made it through the speech. Barely. My voice never stopped shaking. I nearly broke down when I got to the line, “as the parent of a child who sometimes needs a little extra compassion,” but I made it. I resisted the overwhelming urge to curl up into the fetal position behind the podium, which was really all I could ask.

As small and as awkward as I felt, I knew I wasn’t standing up there alone.

I rode through the rest of the night on a wave of nervous energy. As we finally headed toward the door, I knew I had to look. I was terrified. I was convinced that the one name (mine) that had been on my late addition sign-up sheet would still be the only name on the sheet. I bit my lip and peered nervously over at the table.

And then I jumped. Yes, really. I jumped up and down like a little kid on Christmas morning. It’s a trick in pumps, but I jumped. There were seventeen names on my sheet. SEVENTEEN names.

Our P.E. teacher, whom I adore, looked over my shoulder and smiled. “Do you see this?” I asked. Of course she did, but I couldn’t contain my excitement.

“Jess,” she said, “do you know that those are NOT all Special Ed parents?”

I did. It was a perfect mix.

SEVENTEEN people.

I turned to Luau.

“Look, honey!”

I turned to my friends.

“All the cool kids in school are doin it!”

We laughed. Two of them had already signed on. Another added her name.

Eighteen.

I couldn’t get over it. Eighteen people.

By yesterday morning, there were three more volunteers. They ran out of room on the sheet and started writing in names across the bottom. One was a teacher. We are now twenty-one strong.

Among a number of incredible e-mails yesterday was one from Brooke’s inclusion facilitator. “We have to decide what our goals for the committee are.” OUR goals, she’d said. We’re doing this together.

One step at a time. Together. We’re going to make a difference.

Of course, there’s much work to be done. Starting with a slogan. What? No? Oh, c’mon now, everyone needs a slogan!

A friend and I came up with a couple of preliminary thoughts -

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Inclusion, it’s the new black

Inclusion – all the cool kids are doin it

Lose ten pounds! Ask me how! (no idea, but let’s talk about inclusion)

Cynicism can kiss my ass.

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Twenty one people.

Holy crap.